I've had a sick little Magoo on my hands since Boxing Day.
It doesn't happen often around here, but when it does it's pretty vocal.
The symptoms of 'spoilt-only-child-who-was-over-indulged-on-Christmas-Day' present very similarly to 'a-serious-throat-infection-that-looks-absolutely-hideous-(red raw, grazed and ulcerated)-and-feels-even-worse.
I may or may not have threatened to confiscate Christmas gifts somewhere in the midst of my motherly misdiagnosis.
It literally hurts my heart to see poor Magoo in so much pain.
It literally hurts my ears that the poor little man can't sleep for more than 15 minutes without screaming.
The silver lining?
The boy needs his Mummy.
For more than reading the hard words in books or cleaning his mess.
I've been reminded what it's like to be up all night with your baby - and, yep, I still want one.
My house is spotless. For now.
The guilt I usually feel about us not spending enough time at home is all but gone.
I've made bunting for the playroom. (I admire bunting. I don't make it.)
The blender has been given a workout.
Ice cream is a genuine meal this week.
My wardrobe has finally been culled.
My cuddle stocks have been beautifully replenished.
I'm starting to think I'm a freaking (under appreciated!!) nurse.
Magoo actually thinks I'm a nurse.
The television has been reinstated in light of extenuating circumstances.
I don't have to cancel care/call off work/feel guilty about abandoning my sick child because it's. holidays. baby.
Think of the cash I've saved in fuel.
Hubby's around to share our pain - when he's not escaping for suspiciously long showers, very lengthy training sessions or apparently necessary trips to Bunnings outside of their opening hours. Weak!
The sun shines shamelessly around here at the moment.
All this extra washing is dry in no time.
I don't have to cancel plans with friends because we had none this week.
Our open 'come and swim/drink/eat' invitation to everyone we know has been revised though.
Magoo's aversion to doctors must be waning seeing as he wails 'I neeeeeeeed a doctor, Mum' every ten minutes or so. He even let the locum have free reign of his head.
Here's to a glorious impending new year - and a magic Magoo recovery.